Vices

"We all have vices, honey, she breezes reclining in her seat and lighting a cigarette. Some of us are just more skilled than others at concealing what we do behind closed doors. I'm a fixer, it's what I've always done and what I've always excelled at. She pauses, trying to discern the expression on my face, an assortment of repulsion, curiosity and fear. Smirking, she continues: Now, I've never waterboarded anyone or cut off their fingers before but I've heard people beg for that kind of torture right before their limbs snap, crackle and pop and their bodies stop looking like bodies, she says her eyes widening. I've never set a person on fire, tossed them off of an 8 story building or strung them up by a ceiling fan but I used to relish an escape like that. I used to tease the possibility of a swift exit because I've starved, begged, bled and screamed every day for years.
She takes another drag of her cigarette and continues.
But I found a purpose and a purpose is what made the dingy shack I lived in feel like the Four fucking Seasons, a purpose is what squashed my thoughts of a swift exit and gave me stamina, not self-pity or resolve. I carved myself out of this life, I learnt to play chess not checkers and once I did, I plucked the respect, loyalty and servitude right out of the people around me. This is my world. So really, she drawls stretching, my vice, is doing what I do best'
She puts out the cigarette and closes her eyes.